Paper Bandages
Chapter 3: Passing Notes
Dean hated Sam's puppy dog eyes. He really did.
They almost always granted him whatever he wanted, no matter what age he was. And Dean was notoriously weak to them.
There were dead body parts in his Baby's trunk.
Dean really needed a beer. Too bad there were practically none left. Seemed like the whole world lost someone and needed to grieve all at once, and no one was about to waste their time brewing more instead of trying to survive.
"Awesome," he muttered to himself sarcastically.
"Wha. . . ?" slurred a waking Sam from the seat next him, "You say somethin', Dean?"
Dean rolled his eyes and gently slapped his little brother on the shoulder, "Nothing important man, I'm just craving a cold one. Go back to sleep."
"M'kay," Sam mumbled, already dozing off once more.
Dean turned his head to the side, taking in the sight of his little brother sleeping peacefully, as if the past year had all been a dream.
As if the world wasn't ending again.
As if the cause of this apocalypse wasn't sitting next to him in the driver's seat, watching him sleep.
Dean slid his gaze back over to the dirt road they were driving on.
When the man and the wolf approached the trembling group of people, an older man stepped bravely forward in front of the others. Turning to the man with the wolf, he spoke in a quavering, but determined voice, "My name's Jonah, and these here are my buddies. Now, we don't know who you are, though we're mighty grateful that you saved us. But I'll have you know that we ain't got nothin' to repay you with and we sure ain't goin' back to where we came from, so if they sent you to bring us back, we won't go quietly."
The man blinked and tilted his head to the side, brows wrinkled in confusion. He looked down at the wolf, who stared impassively back up at him. THe man hesitantly glanced back up at Jonah and the others.
Then he shook his head uncertainly. Slowly sliding the backpack off of his shoulders, the man unzipped it and reached inside. All of the other men tensed in anticipation.
The man pulled out a scrap of paper and a stubby pencil. Carefully, he pressed the paper against a tree and in shaky writing, he scribbled,
"I am stiles. friend is derek. please don't repay. who tie up? where come from?"
Jonah glanced suspiciously at the man, but took the paper and mouthed the words to himself as he read them. Abruptly, his gaze turned sympathetic and his voice softened and slowed until it sounded like he was speaking to a child or a wounded animal.
"I'm so sorry, son. I didn't mean to accuse you of anything. Stiles, is it? That's a mighty interestin' name you got there. Now, where we came from, that was a bad place. You see those hills there?" He pointed over to a small cluster of hills in the distance, "There's a small town there, but you don't wanna go there, son. The folks there, they're all trapped by the Black-Eyes. They look like you and me, but their eyes are pure black and they have evil powers. They tie a bunch of up here every now and then so the zombies'll get distracted and stay away. The Black-Eyes ain't human, son. You'd best take your Derek and go the other- HEY!"
Stiles was staring at Jonah flatly until the mention of the Black-Eyes. Then, his eyes widened and he whipped his gaze down to Derek, who nodded grimly. After Jonah sounded like he was almost finished talking, Stiles shook his hand and instantly raced off towards the hills, Derek flat on his heels.